Welcome To My World
by SmurfLuvsCookies
Summary: Every Shinigami has a Zanpakuto, and every Zanpakuto has a story.
1. The Flowering Flame Blade

**Author's Note:**_ So this is my first Bleach story! Basically it's just some drabbles from the Zanpakuto's point of view, since I don't think there's enough of those on FanFiction. They will be in order from the captain and lieutenant of the First Division to the captain and lieutenant of the Thirteenth Division, as well as other important characters. I will not be doing the Vizards' Zanpakutos._

**Disclaimer**:_ I do not own Bleach. It is the sole property of Tite Kubo._

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><p><strong>Ryujin Jakka<strong>

I am the most powerful fire blade in the history of Soul Society. It only makes sense that I be partnered with the Captain-Commander of the Gotei 13. I would accept no less from my Shinigami.

I always knew that Genryusai Shigekuni Yamamato was destined for great things. As a young Shinigami, he had fire in his belly and passion flowing through his veins. He was a raging inferno of emotion. Wielding me, he cut down his opponents and quickly cut his way to the top.

During that period of time so many centuries ago, the world I lived in could only be described as Hell. It was a burning plain that never cooled. The flames, which at times rose as tall as a mountain, never gave off smoke. The blue sky was as clear as a spring day, looking over the burning ground below. But I didn't mind the flames. I relished them. I am fire. I am heat.

Then, I thought that we had been at the peak of our power. Only now do I realize that the spectacular display was only a sign of our weakness, of Yamamato's arrogance and my pride.

Yamamato has mellowed in his old age. He's grown wiser, as have I. I noticed shifts in his inner landscape as the centuries rolled by, has he gained knowledge. They are subtle and slow, since Yamamato is stubborn and proud as I am, but they are shifts nonetheless. The fires never cooled, but they slowly began to creep into the ground. Now I walk on mere hot coals, sighing as they warm my feet and fill my blood with energy. I could walk forever and never stop. The plain of glowing orange coals is endless.

But the sky is as blue as ever, stretching from horizon to horizon. The heat from the ground distorts the air around me. It is only now that I truly believe we have reached the peak of our power, though I hope this not the case. After the peak comes the downfall.

Though I am the only fire on this perpetual field of burning coals, my feet are still calloused and burnt from the heat of the ground under them. The coals still glow and flicker with life. There is still fire in my Shinigami's belly yet. Only when the coals go dark will I know we have fallen.


	2. The Solemn Spirit

_**Author's Note**: So this is the lieutenant for the First Division. He doesn't get a lot of recognition, but I saw that his Zanpakuto was a traveler (more specifically, a ronin from the Meiji period) and I came up with this. I know these chapters are pretty short especially in comparison to what I usually do, but it's supposed to be just a small insight into the lives of the Zanpakuto. Once we get into the more familiar characters the chapters will probably become longer, though._

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><p><strong>Gonryomaru<strong>

I am a wanderer forever confined. I stare at the four walls of my cabin day and night, through every century that passes. All I want is to travel the mountains outside my window, but I have always failed to find a door to pass through.

I once believed that if I helped Chojiro-dono achieve success, then I would be rewarded with a door to those majestic mountains. I trained with him while I thought of the cherry blossoms and the ripened plums that are just out of reach. I listened to the sweet melodies of birds as I disciplined him and allowed him to be special in this bland cabin, something that I don't think he's ever experienced outside in the realm of Shinigami. He is rather devoid of individuality, but I care for my Chojiro-dono just the same, like no one can.

Ever since he rose to become lieutenant of the First Division, I have waited patiently to reap my reward for being an obedient and helpful Zanpakuto. Chojiro-dono is generous. He will surely assist me in anyway he can.

And yet no door has come.

As time goes on, dark thoughts have tainted my mind. Perhaps Chojiro-dono will not be satisfied until he has become Commander-Captain? But then, even I as a loving Zanpakuto knows that will never happen. Chojiro-dono is much too generic for such a fortune. Then perhaps he fears that my wanderlust will cause me to abandon him? But surely this is not so; Chojiro-dono is not selfish, nor is he a fool. He knows I would never abandon him.

Maybe time is the only cure. Only with time will I find my exit and escape these four languid walls. For now I pace and I wait, wait, wait for my time to arrive. I wait for my freedom to come in the form of a door.


	3. The Hornet

_**Author's Note**: I got a question about whether or not I will be using the Zanpakutos from the Zanpakuto Rebellion arc. The answer is that I will be using the mangakas desired appearance for the Zanpakutos and I will take some of their characteristics into account, but I will delve much deeper into their emotions than the Zanpakuto arc did._

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><p><strong>Suzumebachi<strong>

I am a candle in a dark room. Here in Sui-Feng's inner world it is forever night. There are a sprinkling of stars overhead and a sliver of moon just bright enough to allow some sight. There is a large sprawling willow tree thats leaves whisper with the wind above me. Its branches sway and dance in harmony, always making ripples in the water where it has buried its roots.

This always irritates me. I can never see my reflection properly.

Sui-Feng's inner place is perfect for an assassin. There is the cover of darkness, plenty of places to hide, and the pond if you need a quick escape route. Whenever Sui-Feng and I argue, she uses this against me. I can never find her, but she can always easily spot me. Though I am tiny, I am bright.

And though Sui-Feng is frustrating and drab, she is better than no one at all. I get so lonely here in this place. Sui-Feng says that this and my frivolousness are my fatal flaws, things that I should improve on. I tell her to be like a ninja and shut up. That's usually when she leaves.

The only time I can ever get Sui-Feng to loosen up a bit is when she talks about the cat-lady, Yoruichi. The way she _obsesses _over her predecessor is creepy. I asked Sui-Feng if she was a lesbian once. She didn't talk to me for two whole months.

I thought it was a legitimate question. I've never seen anyone react like Sui-Feng does to the cat-lady's name. I even see the occasional black cat roaming by the shore of the pond, nimbly weaving in and out of sight, blinking at me with bright golden eyes.

I always make a point to kill that black cat. Two lightning-fast strikes with my right arm; that's all it takes. The cat never stands a chance against me.


	4. The Five Formed Head

_**Author's Note:** A short chapter, not one of my best. However, next I will be doing Gin's Zanpakuto, as he was the captain of the Third Division before the whole thing with Aizen. Like I said, I won't be doing the Vizards' Zanpakuto._

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><p><strong>Gegetsuburi<strong>

A Zanpakuto is equal, if not more powerful, than it's Shinigami. If this is so, then why can I not ever get it through Omaeda's thick, stupid skull?

I am like him in many ways. We both like crackers; we are both plump in a way that suggests our wealth; we are both fierce warriors in battle; we are both dedicated and loyal. Omaeda sees these similarities in me, and nothing more. He does not understand that I am different from him. He sees me as only an extension of himself, not as a separate being connected to him by our bond as Zanpakuto and Shinigami.

Where Omaeda is dull, I am clever. Where Omaeda is vain, I am modest (and actually attractive). Where Omaeda is weak, I am strong. Yet he refuses to see me as his equal. He is demeaning in every aspect. The fat-assed oaf refuses even to address me with the respectful honorific -_san_. If only once I heard him say, "Gegetsuburi-san," then I think I would be happier. Still, my words fall upon deaf ears.

I believe he thinks me a younger brother. Or perhaps even like his own child. The latter would make sense, since there is no chance of him ever producing offspring of his own. There is no woman idiotic enough to bed him.

I am tired of being treated inferior. The right time, I will try to explain once more my views of equality and justice. At the right time, I truly will.

Perhaps this waiting for the right time is why I live in the gears of what seems to be a giant clock, ticking and ticking. I wonder if the clock is broken; it never chimes. If the clock is broken, does that mean that Omaeda is broken too? I don't see how he could be. He has succeeded in everything he does with my help.

Then Omaeda's clock must not be broken. It must be every other clock in the world.


	5. The Divine Spear

_**Author's Note:** This chapter was surprisingly fun to write. Gin was such a mystery up until the very end, and he had an equally deceptive Zanpakuto. Writing from Shinso's perspective was a very awesome experience._

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><p><strong>Shinso<strong>

Gin and I have no secrets. And yet we have many.

With each other we share everything; with the outside world, nothing. Gin proposed this long ago when he first learned my name. He remarked on how powerful my name was. I remarked on how strange his was. Then he said, "We will have no secrets, you and I. I need someone to confess my sins and my desires to, and you need to tell me everything so we can reach our full potential. We have a very important mission to fulfill, you see."

Since then, I have no doubt that we have shared everything about ourselves. Gin visits me often on this seaside cliff where I reside. When he is here he tells me of his desire, of Rangiku Matsumoto and of killing Sosuke Aizen. He also describes in great detail his wrongdoings, of murder and seduction and lies. They are things he is not proud of, but things he does not regret. "It is for the greater good," he says. "I have to look at the big picture."

I laugh when he says this, because I cannot believe that someone as clever and patient as Gin Ichimaru has managed to fool himself like this to shield himself from the realization that he is selfish. He is not doing this to protect Soul Society from Aizen, or to protect the mortals from Aizen, or even to protect himself from Aizen. He is doing this to protect one person, and that is Rangiku Matsumoto. He kills and lies and cheats only for her, and he claims that it is for the greater good.

I suppose even someone as clear-sighted as Gin is blind to their fatal flaw.

When Gin is not here, I sit and listen to the crashing of the waves below. I know that I can stretch from here all the way to the horizon if I so chose. I am the fastest, longest, obscurest Zanpakuto in Shinigami history. Only Gin knows all of my secrets. He is the only one who ever will.

I thought I knew all of his secrets too. But Gin Ichimaru did keep one thing from me all these years. He never told me that he knew he was going to die when he killed Sosuke Aizen. Maybe then he knew that I would never agree to help him.

Now as I watch the crashing ocean subside into a puddle, as I feel my life force and Gin's slowly deteriorating, I wonder if he lied to protect me just as he lied to protect Rangiku Matsumoto. I wonder if this is a sign of his love for me, or if he just kept the ending of his plan a secret to enlist my help. Am I like Aizen, or am I like Rangiku?

I will never know, because Gin is not here to confide in me his final secret.


	6. The Miserable Man

_**Author's Note:** So this chapter is rather...melancholy. And repetative. But I thought it suited the Zanpakuto well, both how I thought he'd be and how he was portrayed. Tell me what you think!_

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><p><strong>Wabisuke<strong>

War is despair.

How many times have I drilled this into Izuru's head? War is despair, war is despair, war is despair. Being borne a weapon and having the responsibility of wielding a weapon are both heavy burdens. Izuru and I show this to others as best we can, but they don't ever understand to the extent that we do. War is despair.

I remember when Izuru first introduced himself to me, when he first learned my name. He was so bright and vibrant back then, a smiling face among jagged, frowning trees that rise up into the gloomy heavens until their tips are swallowed by the clouds. There is a path that goes north and south, with no tributaries or detours. It only goes straight, with trees the size of skyscrapers on either side.

At first I thought I had been given to the wrong Shinigami, and I believe that Izuru thought the same. He was eager to battle, eager to test his new power, eager to prove his self-worth and serve Soul Society. And what were the first words I ever said to him?

War is despair.

He was confused at first, and then indignant, and finally resigned. Only recently has he truly begun to absorb my lessons. We walk the never-ending path, always forward, never back, trying to catch the mist in our hands and talking about war. Talking about despair.

Izuru is genuinely kind, even with the weight of despair on his shoulders and the blood of opponents on his hands. Every time we walk he offers to take my iron ball or my concrete stone, and I always decline with the same excuse. I am a weapon that has taken lives, and these are the weight of my despair.

That never stops him from asking.

It is somewhat Izuru's fault that I carry these weights. I was so much lighter and so much fitter before he went into battle. Now I am skeletal and ladden with these cumbersome objects. As much as he dislikes war, whenever he gets serious in battle he sees it through to the end. Even if the opponent has become defenseless and is begging for mercy. Izuru has no sympathy, no pity. In battle, he is a machine. Whenever he kills, my weights get heavier.

Honestly, I don't mind. It torments Izuru to see me suffer so much labor through his actions. It shows him the consequences of every life he takes, for the weight of every man he's slain is the weight that I carry. Seeing me in my laggard state only reinforces what I've been telling him for well over a century now.

War is despair.

As long as he learns that very important lesson, I will carry all the weight of the world down this endless path.


	7. Purify The Flesh

_**Author's Note:** This chapter is pretty short and rather lacking in conflict, but I always imagined that Unohana and her Zanpakuto would have a mutual respect for one another_.

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><p><strong>Minazuki<strong>

I live in an elegant place with grand architecture, lovely gardens, beautiful stain-glass windows, shining marble floors, and rows and rows of medical books. I am encompassed in perpetual spring, just as the cool breezes are edging away and balmy warmth is replacing them. There is always the grumble of a thunderstorm on the horizon, but there is never rain.

Unohana-san has been very kind to me.

I could walk these halls for an eternity and never get bored. As much as I enjoy solitude, however, I cherish Unohana-san's visits even more. I love her dearly. She is gentle and firm, kind and complacent, always beneficial, never destructive. She is the ideal lady. My conversations with her are always relaxed and easy. I give her advice when she needs it, though this is a rarity. We look through medical books together. We discuss topics of importance. Hardly ever do we bout or argue, though when this is the case our shouts do not echo through the halls of Unohana-san's inner world. Even in distress she is the epitome of refinement.

Sometimes my violent Zanpakuto instincts overwhelm me. During these times Unohana-san will graciously join me in sparring. Fighting with her is like dancing. She is graceful, yet fierce and unrelenting. I pity anyone who crosses blades with her.

No one ever does. Unohana-san is the angel that sweeps over the battlefield, healing the wounded and saving lives. She does not like brute violence, though she understands that it is oftentimes necessary.

I am honored to lend her my wings, and she to soar upon my back.


	8. The Frozen Cloud

_**Author's Note:** Isane's Zanpakuto was hardly ever mentioned at all, so I got a little bit creative with this one. I hope you enjoy it, and I can't thank you enough for favoriting and reviewing! :) Aizen's is next!_

_Every time I type Isane's name, I want to type "insane." Does anyone else have that issue, or is it just me?_

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><p><strong>Itegumo<strong>

I am opposite of my Shinigami in every way. Isane Kotetsu is tall and gentle and soft spoken and warm, whereas I am short and sharp and cynical and cold.

Isane tells me that she wishes she looked more like me, that she wishes she was powerful like me. I tell her that a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, or that she needs to stop complaining and build her powers so she can be stronger and achieve bankai one day like some of the other lieutenants have already done. Sometimes when I am feeling particularly cruel, I will goad her about the things she hates most about herself until she snaps and lashes out at me. Isane is more powerful than she realizes, but she smothers her power with her insecurities.

I hate the place where she's kept me. I am in a meadow that is covered with a thin layer of snow and is surrounded in all sides by sloping lavender mountains capped with ice. The air is clear and cold on my skin. Where ever I step, the snow melts and leaves a patch of vibrant green grass and wildflowers around me. When I step away, the snow replaces the little circle of spring. Isane says that I am beautiful this way, with flowers at my feet and my cheeks flushed from the cold. I do not feel beautiful. I feel like an outsider, a foreigner in my own realm.

Despite all the things I hate about Isane, she makes me laugh. I love her silly nightmares. She does not find them funny, but I do. They are ridiculous and the fact that they keep her up at night is somewhat pathetic. I think when she talks to me she realizes this about them, and they don't bother her as much.

And her theories! You would think that the lieutenant of the Fourth Division would know a thing or two about the human body, but Isane seems not to. For instance, she believed that porridge (because of it's "poor nutritional value") would make her stop growing! As if!

Another favorite pastime of mine is to watch her blush when I bring up another aspect of the human body. Isane is so innocent, so modest. The heat of her embarrassment when I bring up the male influence is nearly enough for her to melt the snow as I do.

The only time I really feel at peace, though, is when I am with my Shinigami and we are laying side-by-side in the snow, looking up at the sky as the snowflakes gently fall around us. Isane will run her fingers though the grass around me. She will pick a bundle of white and yellow wildflowers and tuck them behind my ear. Then she will call me beautiful, and with the look of such tender love she gives me I will have no choice but to believe her.


	9. Mirror Flower, Water Moon

_**Author's Note**: I absolutely loved writing this chapter, which is one reason it's so long. As Aizen is the main antagonist of the series, it was interesting and also a bit strange to be writing from the point of view of his ally._

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><p><strong>Kyoka Suigetsu<strong>

I have no face, but I have masks.

I have no voice, but I have influence.

I have no instinct, but I have thought.

I spend my days in a room of mirrors. There are hundreds of me, each with a different mask. I have lost track of which of me is the real me. I have no idea what mask is truly mine. Then again, perhaps there is not only one of me. Perhaps all of these reflections are not reflections at all, but several of me trapped behind glass.

It is rare that my Shinigami has the time to visit me. When he does, we play chess, though I have no chessboard. Aizen and I do not need one. We have the image fixed in our minds, and we relay our answers through thought. Aizen has never won. I have never won. The game we started the first day we met is the game we are playing now. It is a perpetual chess match.

Whenever Aizen visits, I cannot see him in any of my mirrors.

Sosuke Aizen is a refined man. He is brilliant, a genius even, polite, clever, intuitive, patient, innovative, and he, too, has many masks. I do not think anyone has ever seen his true face. Even I doubt if I have.

Despite this discrepancy, I know that Aizen and I are a perfect match as Shinigami and Zanpakuto. He is the only Shinigami, I believe, who is on my level of intellect. His diligence and proficiency in chess are proof of this. Between moves he tells me, vaguely, of his scheme. He never tells me everything. He never reveals enough.

Aizen does not entirely trust anyone. Not even his own Zanpakuto.

This is wise of him. I do not admonish him for it. In fact, I rather approve of the reluctant manner in which he shares information. All knowledge is precious in the right hands, and it can be a dangerous weapon if manipulated for that purpose. I keep certain things to myself as well. I tell Aizen that if he finally rises victorious from our chess match, I will relinquish everything I know to him. Aizen says that if I win, he will offer the same courtesy.

As his plot reaches his climax, Aizen's visits grow fleeting and few. Our chess match is at a momentary stand-still. I wait patiently, silently contemplating my future moves as well as Aizen's, occasionally viewing my many selves in the mirrors.

Eventually, Aizen stops visiting completely.

In the back of my mind, I wonder if his plan has somehow gone awry. Surely he cannot be dead; if that were so, I would be in the same state. My soul is tied to his. I only breathe for as long as he does.

Then what? Was he triumphant and ceases to visit me because he is too busy or because he no longer has a use for me? I do not think this is so. I am confident that, while Aizen may not have trusted me or even considered me his friend, our brief conversations were a moment of relief for him.

Then was he unsuccessful and imprisoned by Soul Society or forced to go into hiding? This, too, I have trouble envisioning, though it is a more likely explanation. Aizen is ingenious. He had every scenario thought out and a solution accommodated for it, as well as room to maneuver on the off chance he should be surprised. It would have either taken a very smart person or a very willful group of people to defeat him. Perhaps it was a medley of both.

However, knowing Aizen, he has brewed or is already brewing up a way to escape from the confinements of Seireitei. Even if he isn't, I know for a fact that the Gotei 13 have made a grave error in judgement for not exterminating Aizen when they had the chance. It does not matter how long they've imprisoned him - a century, two centuries, three, four, even five centuries - Aizen will construct a plan, if not for escape, then a new plan for dominating Soul Society, a plan for revenge.

By not sentencing Aizen to death, the Gotei 13 have only given him more time to elaborate on his plan, to perfect it. They've only given him more time to think up his next move.


	10. The Flying Plum Tree

_**Author's Note:** Yet another interesting chapter to write. Most of this has to do with Aizen's betrayal and how it affected Hinamori and Tobiume. Therefore the scenery is very descriptive. Tell me what you think!_

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><p><strong>Tobiume<strong>

Hinamori Momo is a paradox.

In some ways, she is very young. Physically she is pretty in a girlish, modest way. She is kind and caring to everyone, and gentle like a young maiden. She can be carefree and laughs as though the weight of the world does not rest on her thin shoulders, even when it sometimes does. Sometimes she is unsure of herself like a teenage girl. She is infuriatingly naive and as trusting as an energetic puppy.

In other ways, Hinamori is wise beyond her years. She loves with the intensity of someone who has seen generations of death, and with her whole heart, goodly and purely. She has an aversion to violence, but understands that it is sometimes necessary to keep order. She cares for me like a mother or protective older sister, trying her best not to stain me with the blood of our enemies. She is as responsible and uncorrupted as a saint because she knows the kind of power she wields. She is as loyal as the oldest hound dog.

Hinamori was wholesome once. She was more young than old, more pup than hound. I remember gritting my teeth in frustration at her gullible ways, at her lack of discipline. How bitter I grew when I saw and felt the love that she showered on her colleagues, on Hitsuiga Toshiro and Rangiku Matsumoto and Sosuke Aizen. Those three people in particular she would have sacrificed everything, _everything_, even me for.

And one of them betrayed her.

How can one strike at an energetic puppy, yipping and ready to play and learn? How can one crush a blossoming flower in the palm of their hand, or grind a newborn butterfly into the dust with the sole of their shoe? How? _How_?

How did I not realize what that damnable Sosuke Aizen was doing to her?

I, who am one and separate of her soul. I, who am her ultimate soul mate. I, who am her same. I should have caught on from the very beginning, and yet I turned a blind eye to all of the signs. I ignored how the grass dulled in color and grew sharp under my feet in the tranquil gardens that is Hinamori's inner world. I dismissed how the roses grew speckled, and how the daisies lost their petals, and how the irises turned gray. I stopped lounging in the trees so I wouldn't have to face the fact that the branches would no longer support me. Only when the giant plum tree in the center of my universe ceased giving plump, violet fruit did I realize what was happening. By then it was too late.

Hinamori Momo was broken, and by association I was too.

Selfishly I looked for someone to blame. I wanted to blame Aizen, but Hinamori wouldn't allow it. After all that had transpired in the outside realm, she still loved him as her superior and as her friend. I tried to crush my Shinigami with guilt then, because of her nativity and her poor judgement, but one cannot shatter what has already been obliterated. My accusations buzzed around her ears like roaming flies, but she did not hear them. I gave up.

We clutched each other desperately as we watched Hinamori's inner world, that which we had regarded on of the most beautiful places on Earth and in Soul Society, whither away. Miles and miles of lush greenery browned and turned to ash. The starburst chrysanthemums shriveled. Bright yellow daffodils that dotted the meadows curled into feminine faints. Glistening white lilies closed like the fist of a skeleton. Violets dropped their petals to the ground, one by one. Bluebells rotted from the roots up. Orchids, which were once gorgeous streamers, became limp, dried vines.

Even the mighty trees that were the foundation of the gardens suffered. The sprawling oaks, the lustrous maples, the swaying willows all rotted like the rinds of jack-o-lanterns after Halloween. Even my prized plum tree became a decrepit black shell of what it once was.

I cannot express the sorrow or fear Hinamori and I felt during this time. Our haven became a wasteland before our eyes. The days grew cold and sky was bleached into the blank, harsh white of bones. It was so bright that whenever I looked up tears filled my eyes. The same happened to Hinamori, but for a very different reason.

"That is the white of a Hollow," she would say to me as tears dripped down her face. I knew that she was thinking of her duties and how she was neglecting them. I knew she was thinking of Aizen and his control over the monsters we battled. Perhaps she even feared that her grief was turning her into one. I have no way of knowing what deluded thoughts were going through her mind in moments like these.

Slowly, I helped soothe her out of her depression. Now I understood why she loved the way she did, because if I had been alone in helping her then Hinamori and I surely would have died from heartsickness. But we had the friends, the true friends, to aid us in our time of need. Hitsuigia Toshiro, Rangiku Matsumoto, Izuru Kira, Abarai Renji; all those who grew to love Hinamori as she loved them. Their worry and their care were the rains that colored the bleached sky purple and nurtured the garden below. Slowly the grass grew green again, the flowers bloomed, the trees became healthy. Although I hated rain because it was water, because it left me lethargic and weak, and because, let's face it, I don't like getting my hair wet, I was glad for it. I was glad to see Hinamori healing.

But I noticed a brick wall forming around the leagues and leagues of gardens. It was elegant and clean like everything else in Hinamori's world, but I saw it for what it truly was. It was a defense, not around her inner world, but around her heart. Hinamori had learned, at the most basic level, how to be shrewd. She had grown and I was proud of her.

Though the gardens are plentiful and breathtaking again, they still have not been restored to their full magnitude. The birds do not sing as cheerfully, the jasmine is not as fragrant, the moss on the roots of the trees is still not the vibrant shade of emerald I had come to know and love. While my beloved plum tree blossoms, it has still bore me no fruit.

I had always regarded Hinamori's childish ways as a flaw in her character. Now, as I examine the extravagant wall she has constructed to fortify our gardens I realize that it is thicker than I had originally thought, and it is made of tough brick. I begin to miss Hinamori's niativity. I understand that it was not a flaw in her character at all; it was what made everyone love her so. I see now that Hinamori was not the one who was flawed.

As I look up at the new addition to our gardens, I swear to myself that one day I will see it crumble into dust.


	11. A Thousand Cherry Blossoms

_**Author's Note**: This one came out differently than I thought it would, but I think it turned out okay._

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><p><strong>Senbonzakura<strong>

_A lovely spring night_  
><em>suddenly vanished while we<em>  
><em>viewed cherry blossoms.<em>

This is one of my favorite haiku by Japanese poet Matsuo Basho. The cherry blossoms, the sakuras, are the most renowned and beautiful flowers in Japan. When the sakuras bloom, it is like snow in springtime. It is breathtaking.

This haiku reminds me very much of my own sanctum. Here it is always just on the cusp of twilight, the sky a wash of orange and violet, the first gentle stars winking down at the earth below. Fireflies blink in and out of existence, and the soothing melody of the crickets hangs in the air. All around me are hundreds and hundreds of tall, elegant sakuras. Their delicate branches are heavy with fragrant pink petals, forming great solid clouds. The trees sigh with the cool breeze and the clouds release the petals, riding on the wind and gliding down like snowflakes.

If one loves cherry blossoms, it is an artist's paradise. I've written countless poems, illustrated numerous paintings, spouted more love stories than I'd like to admit. All centered around the noble sakura.

However, there is such thing as too much of a good thing. Sometimes the aroma of the flowers cloy the air too much with their sweetness; I can't breathe, it is suffocating me. I want the crickets to stop their shrill calls. I wish for silence. Often I find the blinking tails of the fireflies distracting and irritating. I look at my art and see that it is all too similar.

The cherry blossoms swallow everything.

The only time I am given relief is when my Shinigami uses his shikai or bankai. Only then are the thousands of petals sucked away and the graceful limbs of the trees are left bare. This happens less than you might think, though. Byakuya does not reveal his powers to just anyone. Only to those who are worthy.

Byakuya is very distant. I feel lonely when he is here. The head of the Kuchiki clan has always been aloof and serene, but he was much more reactive when he was younger. We were two of a kind. Whenever he visited me, we would spar or write or paint. Now we only occasionally do these things, since Byakuya only occasionally visits. And when we do spend time together, it is not with the ease that we once cherished.

I do not think that Byakuya loves me any less than he did before. We are brothers of the deepest bond, thicker even than blood. Ever since he lost his dear wife he has completely closed himself off from others. He even held his adoptive sister Rukia at arm's length until very recently, but I know that he still cares for her as he cared for Hisana.

He also shows great respect for his lieutenant, Renji Abarai, and the substitute Shinigami that Rukia created, Ichigo Kurosaki. The closest thing to a rivalry he has is the muted passion he feels toward Zaraki Kenpachi and the hulking man's brutish ways. I enjoy these emotions that swell in his heart. Byakuya is not shallow or unfeeling in any sense; in fact, his emotions run quite deeply. He is just not practiced in conveying these powerful emotions, as it is unfitting for one of his rank to do so. He tries to hide them from everyone else, but there is little he can do to hide them from me.

I know that Byakuya is proud of me and treasures me deep in his heart. But I also know he finds me cloying at times, too powerful and too much for him to handle.

Quite frankly, I am Byakuya's cherry blossoms.


	12. The Snake Tail

_**Author's Note:** I got stuck on this one. It was definitely difficult, and it may eventually end up being replaced. But probably not. XD_

* * *

><p><strong>Zabimaru<strong>

I am clever, intelligent. Manipulative and calculating. Yet I am not refined; I am wild, simmering with feral urges beneath the surface. I glide through the air, using the trees to my advantage, never slowing, never stopping, always watching the ground whisk by below me. I am the queen of the canopy.

I am quick as lightning, never hesitating to strike out with my deadly fangs. I am sleek and silent, darting through the long grass that is my habitat. I never leave the ground. The world is a towering city of being all around me, but I, I who slithers solely on the ground, am the ruler of my realm.

We are swift, clever creatures, fair dictators of subject-less kingdoms. We are free like the birds that do not fly above us, but also chained by fate.

I am Monkey.

I am Snake.

We are Zabimaru.

We are two entities fused together by a special circumstance. He keeps me anchored to the ground by the chain that binds us. She has me on a leash, always tugging me away from the earth as she flies through the branches. But we work in harmony, dancing to the music of camaraderie and battle, of power and vulnerability. Where she is strong, I am weak. Where I am weak, he is strong. Together we are a seamless blade with many chinks, solid when we choose and flexible otherwise.

Renji is our Shinigami, the clasp that holds our chain together. Without him, we would inevitably fall apart. Not that we could ever reveal that information to him; it would surely go to his head.

After much discussion between us, we have decided that we are two because Renji is two as well. Within him resides two separate entities, constantly clashing, fighting for dominance.

There is the side of him that is impulsive and aggressive, the wild warrior with dark instincts, the feral animal with keen senses. This part of him is loud and obnoxious, irresponsible and unpredictable, childish and crude.

Then there is his tame side, in which he is not a warrior but an obedient soldier who adheres to rank and honor. The side which thinks things through clearly and sees logic. The part of his heart where he nurses love and tenderness for those around him.

So since Renji is like two sides of a coin, there must be two of us to balance out his power.

I am Snake.

I am Monkey.

We are Zabimaru.


	13. Heavenly Punishment

_**Author's Note:** Sorry for the lateness of this chapter, I had a super busy weekend. This one's another iffy one that I might replace in the future but probably won't because of laziness. Anyway, I hope you like it!_

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><p><strong>Tenken<strong>

I hear the howling of the wolves even over the shrieking wind, calling, calling, calling me to their pack. The inferno inside of me glows brighter; it flares to life like a crazed animal, yearning to join the hunt. The black sky screams with the sounds from a thousand meteors. The ground is dyed red with their flames. The thunderous music of padded feet hitting the earth roars in my ears. Then I am running with them, feeling their coarse fur in my hands, their teeth in my flesh, tasting the blood of my prey on my tongue. The alpha tips back his head and howls in victory, and we all do the same. Out of my mouth spurts a river of blinding fire, and the pack barks and flees in panic.

Why am I different from them? Why am I not the same?

Fire drops from the sky like rain, enveloping everything it touches. This is where I belong. Part of the fire. Just lonely energy and empty heat. I want the fire to embrace me into its very core so I can forget my loneliness. And it does, and I do.

Komomura is lucky. He is a powerful, majestic wolf. Even the alpha is afraid of him. I wish that I could be more like my Shinigami, which is why I hate it when he covers his fluffy ears and his sharp teeth and his fearsome claws. Why is he so ashamed of something worth being proud of?

"In Soul Society, I do not belong," Komomura tells me. "In Soul Society, the other Shinigami are the wolves and I, I am you."

Komomura does not try to be hurtful. He is just honest. But the truth does hurt.

I suppose that it is more painful for Komomura. He does not have fire to caress him when he is down. He has me, and only me, and that is not enough. He was once also good friends with Kaname Tosen, who I call the Blind One. Once, they were brothers. Now Komomura is fighting to rescue the Blind One. He has been betrayed.

But this has made him realize something very important. Komomura is not ashamed anymore. He does not cover his face or paws. He is not proud, but he is not hiding in the shadows anymore.

So perhaps I should learn from Komomura. Perhaps I should stop hiding in my fire.

In the distance, I hear the howling of wolves.


	14. Flower Heaven, Crazy Bone

_**Author's Note:** Alright, so I had to skip Kommomura's lieutenant, Tetsuzaemon Iba, because his Zanpakuto's name or abilities haven't been revealed yet. I honestly have no clue what to write. Therefore I will write nothing. But, once his Zanpakuto is introduced (the name, at the very least) I will dedicate a chapter to them._

_And for those of you who are wondering, yes, I am still going to do Kenpachi's. Why his and not Iba's? Well, firstly we know Kenpachi's character well enough at this point to grasp what his interaction with his Zanpakuto would be, if he knew the name. That, and there's a story and a reason behind Kenpachi's ignorance._

_Simply put, I have the words that need to be said for Kenpachi, but not for Iba._

_Something like this might happen again, but as I said, once the Zanpakutos are introduced I will gladly fill in the gaps. Until then, you'll just have to make do._

_Now that I'm done with this ridiculously long author's note, please enjoy. :)_

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><p><strong>Katen Kyokotsu<strong>

Twin blades, twin sisters. That is us. Katen Kyokotsu.

From the ground arises a city, an infrastructure of bone. We call it the Catacombs, for that is truly what it is: the ultimate burial ground. Hands and feet emptied of flesh form a delicate web of streets weaving through tall, intricate buildings of rib cages and spines, of femurs and fibula. Skulls top the lamp posts where the lanterns are supposed to go, but they produce no light. Kneecaps twist under our hands when we need to step through a door, and they are the gravel under our footsteps. Stooping at the tops of the buildings are the twisted skeletons of gargoyles, grinning down at us.

Everything is stark-white, bone-pale, bleached of color.

Except, of course, the sky. The sky is an extraordinary spectacle to behold, a flickering tie-dyed mess of hues. Shunsui compares it to the humans' aurora borealis, but it is so much more. It devours the entire heavens, leaving nothing untouched. It is as though the sky has absorbed all of the colors from our blank white city. We sometimes think that the sky will one day tear, and all of the colors will fall to the ground like rain.

We wonder where all of the bones for the Catacombs have come from. Shunsui cannot supply an adequate answer. He has no idea either. But he hates our city in all of its skeletal glory. He says it is ugly and crude, inhuman.

We are not human.

We wonder if he thinks that we are ugly and crude as well. We love our city, even if it is bleached white, even if the carcasses of others are the base for its construction. It is much nicer than that dull place he lives, Soul Society. And how long has he been there? Never changing, never moving, always the same lethargic, unmotivated Shunsui Kyoraku. He is as dull as the place where he resides.

But at least he is a worthy opponent for our games we play. How else are we to relieve our boredom? Even sisters as close as us get tired of each other. Shunsui has a clever mind, and he is indeed a game player at heart. He cannot help but leave little hints for us to keep us in the game, and we are the same way. In battle as well. For what fun is a battle without a little risk? What's the point if you are sure you're going to win?

Shunsui doesn't like to admit he sees it that way too. He says that he just doesn't like killing, and wants to give his opponents a chance to continue on with their lives even if he defeats them in battle. Doesn't he see that this "life" he's referring to is really a game? They are synonyms, to be replaced and switched with each other.

Life is a game, each day a new level.


	15. The Bell Bug

_**Author's Note:** Once again, I'm skipping Lieutenate Nanao Ise because the name nor the abilities of her Zanpakuto have not been revealed yet. I will, of course, create a chapter when they are. Until then, enjoy this one._

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><p><strong>Suzumushi<strong>

I live in a world of engulfed in darkness.

However, unlike my Shinigami, it is not because I am incapable of seeing. My vision is superb, honestly. Better than any Shinigami or human or Hollow. I have a 360 degree range of vision. I do not just see. I see everything.

I see all of the darkness that surrounds me very, very clearly.

The reason I live in such darkness is because of my Shinigami's disability. It is because Kaname Tosen cannot see anything, his inner consciousness cannot formulate a suitable environment for me to live in. I am trapped in oblivion.

I suppose I have no room to complain or be bitter toward my Shinigami. It is he who despises his blindness most of all. We both know this. Because of his poor eyes, he was unable to save his very special friend. It was because of her that he became a Shinigami in the first place, and that I came into existence.

Sometimes I wish he hadn't.

We are successful in most that we do, but at what a cost? I am never happy, nor can I say that I am miserable. How can I feel such things if I've no idea what they are? I hear my Shinigami talk about them, explain them to me, but it is hard when I cannot see his face. Perhaps if I saw my Shinigami's face, just once, that would make me happy. Or maybe it would make me sad.

Maybe there is one thing that brings me joy. It happens once in a while, when Tosen is experiencing strong emotions; such as happiness, sorrow, or rage, things that I know the names of but cannot quite feel. It starts with a chirp. And then another. And then, after that, a symphony begins. A serenade of beautiful music, of the most pure, natural voices in the world. It comes from all directions, a delicate melody so fragile I'm afraid to breathe for fear of interrupting them and sending them into hiding once again.

I like to think of myself as a cricket, even though I don't know what I look like, just so I can be comforted by the fact that I have the capabilities to create such sounds.

I also like to imagine that there is a light for every chirping cricket, a soft golden light that glows and illuminates my dark environment. I dream of being surrounded by these orbs of gentle light, of feeling like I'm floating in the night sky and am orbiting around the stars. Because I know what light is, at least. It is the opposite of darkness. Light is beautiful.

Of course, this does not actually happen. Even when the cricket chorus is at the peak of its song, there is not a speck of light around me. But I like to imagine there is, although I'm always disappointed when the music fades and reality once more presses onto me.

I never expected to actually see light and get an ephemeral glance at the world around me. I never thought that it would bring tears to my eyes, tears of joy, tears of sorrow. I never realized that it was the end, and that it would end so abruptly.

I never thought that I would die the moment I began living.


	16. Wind Death

_**Author's Note:** I've always been kind of fascinated with Shuhei and his Zanpakuto, because Kazeshini is so violent while Shuhei is all mellow; although you wouldn't think it looking at him. Some of this is only my personal speculation about their relationship, so no flames please._

* * *

><p><strong>Kazeshini<strong>

The howling wind of a hurricane spikes my blood, fuels the cruel desire that spoils my heart rotten, tunnels little holes in the flesh until I'm falling apart with it, drowning in the temptation.

Death.

It is so horrible. It is so beautiful.

There is nothing I want more.

The sound, the feel of a blade sinking into warm skin, cutting through muscle and meat, slicing through bone is enough to make my knees go weak. Nothing gives me more satisfaction than to watch the life drain out of an opponent's eyes. The hurricane screams with the voices of the dead, of the bodies and souls that have bloodied my hands.

My world is too quiet.

Shuhei is a disgrace. He is not fit to be a warrior. He is not fit to wield a blade like me, a blade lusty with a yearning for blood. He does not have the skill, nor the ferocity, nor the bravery to fight with me. He is frightened of his own blade, and that makes him a coward. Shuhei is nothing but a cowardly bastard with his calm demeanor, always spouting that crap that his captain feeds him.

"Don't you want to just kill sometimes?" I asked him in frustration one day, as the wind howled around us and storm swirled above. I grabbed the front of his shirt and held him to me, let him see the fearsome storm that raged in my own eyes. I let him see what I could be; what _we _could be. With my power, we could take over Soul Society. We would not have to answer to anyone. Screw propriety. Screw diplomacy. We could rise out of the dull, spineless dregs of this world and recreate it, make it our own. It would be a world of glorious chaos. There would be no rules to keep us restrained.

But Shuhei does not see it my way. He never does.

"Just kill? For no reason?" He gave me a look of utter disgust, as though I was some kind of monster risen from the depths of hell. "I will not take lives for no reason, whether you or I want to or not. It's wrong."

Wrong? Who is he to judge what is right and what is wrong? I saw then that Shuhei is just like every other self-righteous Shinigami. He does not understand. He will never understand.

Shuhei must realize that he is the one who is wrong. I know he feels it too; the aching longing in his body, the need to swing and meet his mark, to draw blood with the edge of our blade. He represses it, hides it away from everyone else. But he cannot hide it from me, the partner of his soul. He can lie to himself, but he cannot lie to me.

He wants to kill just as much as I do.

And this is why is so afraid of me, of the power he holds at his fingertips. Because he wants to use it and everyone else has drilled it into his head that it is wrong. His own experiences in life have told him that killing is wrong, but he still wants to do it with every fiber of his being. I guess that Shuhei's self-restraint is admirable, but it is an obstacle in my path.

Shuhei once told me that I was made his Zanpakuto so that he could contain my power and use it only when it was needed. He thinks that he is keeping me in check.

What he doesn't know is that he is only holding me, holding _us_, back.


	17. The Ice Ring

_**Author's Note:** I always thought of Hyorinmaru as a doting parent, even though he really wasn't portrayed that way in the Zanpakuto arc. Tell me what you think, and I might reconsider adjusting this chapter._

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><p><strong>Hyorinmaru<strong>

So much potential.

As we sit together in the baren icy tundra that is Toshiro Hitsugaya's inner landscape, I think this. My Shinigami meditates quietly, peacefully, like the silence that surrounds newfallen snow. He is one with his environment. He is relaxed.

It is rare to see him in such a state. Hitsugaya is usually so tense in Soul Society. It is unnatural for one as young as he to feel inclined to act in such a manner. I wish that Hitsugaya would be a little more laid back. He needs to embrace his inner child more. After all, he is still little more than a child.

It is because he is so young, by Shinigami standards, at least, that he is forced to act in such a way. He thinks that no one will take him seriously if he fools around and jokes like his adult peers. He makes them address him as "Captain" Hitsugaya, as a constant reminder that he is their equal or, in some cases, their superior.

Hitsugaya has already reached the level of captain, and he is still developing his powers. I have still not shared all of my secrets with him. I am one of the most powerful ice Zanpakutos in Shinigami history. I am not obligated to share my techniques with a child who has not yet earned them, or does not need them.

Particularly if that child needs to laugh a little more.

My long, icy tail drags through the snow as I wrap it around Hitsugaya, enclosing him in my deadly embrace. I fold my glittering wings over him and smirk at him with my snowcapped teeth as he scowls at me. He shakes his head and goes back to meditating, surrounded and shielded from the bitter wind by my glistening wings. But I see the fainest fleeting ghost of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, if only for a moment.

I sigh and lay my head down on a bank of snow. The blank white tundra is ugly from afar, miles and miles of blinding gray so bright it hurts, but up close the flurries swirl in the air like spinning dancers and glitter on the ground like diamonds. Up close, the tundra is the most beautiful of sights to behold.

I close my eyes and listen to Hitsugaya's breathing. When I open them, his warm cheek is resting on my neck. He is softly snoring, a bit of drool dribbling down his chin. His big turquoise eyes are closed. The adult scowl is still on his face, but he looks like a child here, curled up beside me.

So small, but so tough. Like a shard of unbreakable ice.

Perhaps not unbreakable. Hitsugaya was sad when he had to leave his grandmother. He was a child then, wishing for her presence, but also an adult, sacrificing his happiness for hers. Hitsugaya goes back to his adolescent years whenever he sees Hinamori Momo, the girl with the fire Zanpakuto who is like a candle in this tundra. He loves her dearly. As well as Rangiku Matsumoto, his lieutenant and close friend. They act very much like siblings.

Gently I nudge Hitsugaya back into his own conscious mind. Rangiku or some other subordinate will most likely attempt to wake him up soon. Hitsugaya is often very busy.

I wish to keep him nested with me in the tundra, but here he can accomplish nothing.


	18. The Ash Cat

_**Author's Note:** I whipped this one up in kind of a hurry. Updates might be a little slower this week because I'm super busy. I'll do my best to get them updated on time._

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><p><strong>Haineko<strong>

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Psh. Please.

Everyone knows who's beautiful and who is not. It's blatantly obvious; except, of course, to those who are ugly. Sayings like "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" or "beauty is inside" are just things they tell themselves to make themselves feel better. To get them through life, day by day. Honestly, I don't blame them. I don't know what I would do if I was ugly, or if I was old.

This is one advantage of being a Zanpakuto. I do not age, not visibly at least. I am the same throughout eternity, with every passing century I am unchanging. Thankfully I was blessed with a gorgeous form, unlike some of my fellow Zanpakuto.

Unfortunately, my Shinigami does not have the luxury of agelessness. Of course Rangiku doesn't age as fast as, let's say, a human, but that pretty face she's so proud of isn't going to last forever. Let's face it, all that booze she drinks isn't helping anything either. She needs to find herself a man, and quick.

Ouch. I take that back. I guess Rangiku had a man, if you really want to call Gin Ichimaru her man. Not that I would. He was never there for her. Not really. Rangiku says he was in the long run, that he was protecting her from afar. I don't see it.

She's still hurting over his inevitable death. I can tell from the swirling gray clouds that hover in my once bright blue sky, the little storms that circulate whenever she's down. From them spills ash as white as snow. It lands on the ground and accumulates in the air. It gathers in my hair and stains my hands, feet, and clothes. But it also feels nice on my skin, like the caressing fingers of many lovers.

The ash lands on the ground and smothers the flowers. It crushes the grass, slowly, delicately, with its subtle weight. It kills everything. Sometimes I even wonder if the ash is killing me, gently, carefully, like the grass. Do the flowers feel anything before they realize what's happening? Are they in pain? Sometimes I think that the ash is killing me like time eventually kills everyone else.

It's strange to me how something that represents death and decay could be so beautiful.


	19. Anonymous

Author's Note: Okay, so even though we really don't know anything about Zaraki's Zanpakuto, we do know the reason (sort of) why we don't, so I did a story on it. Enjoy. Oh, and the name I came up with myself; it simply means Anonymous.

* * *

><p><strong>Tokemei no<strong>

Alone.

So alone.

In a dark place with nothing to see, nowhere to go. Where am I? I don't know. Who am I? I can't remember. I don't know anymore. I am just one more shadow melting into a dark room, in a dark corner, struggling to survive. Can you not hear me, Shinigami? Do you not sense my presence?

Who are you?

What is your name?

Would you like to know mine?

I want you to know my name. I do. I whisper it in your dreams as you sleep, hoping that it will come to you in the form of a chiming bell, or the wind in the sails of a ship. Perhaps you will hear my name in the cry of an eagle soaring through the sky, or in the soft hush of morning dew. Maybe it will appear when you relive the worst moments of your life in your nightmares. It will be in the plop of blood hitting the ground, or in the screams of the terrified innocent victims. Perhaps then I will know what my true potential is, when you hear the sound of my name.

I certainly have no idea. As soon as the breath rushes past my lips, I am as clueless about my origins as you are, Shinigami. To you, I am simply Sword. I am just a tool for you to wield. But I feel you, Shinigami, I know you, and I want you to know me too. I am not just Sword. I am Zanpakuto. I have a name.

Would you like to know it, Shinigami? Would you like to know my name?

I am so alone here. Please let me tell you my name so I can _be_. I want to help you, Shinigami, I want to be the partner of your soul. I feel your energy when you wield me, rough and bloody and violent. We can be so much more than this, Shinigami. We can be so much more than just warrior and weapon.

I am begging you, Shinigami.

Please.

Please.

Just listen to my cries. Just hear my voice.

Please, just recognize the sound of my name.

Do it before I fade away.

Forever.


	20. Demon Light

_**Author's Note:** So I did skip Yachiru's because, like I've said before, we haven't seen anything about her Zanpakuto or its abilities. And with Zaraki as her partner, I doubt we ever will. Also, I've made kind of an exception with the whole pattern of captain, lieutenant I've got going. I think that Ikkaku and Yumichika are important enough characters to be mentioned._

* * *

><p><strong>Hozukimaru<strong>

There is only one thing I do with my time.

I train.

There is no greater goal in my life than to become stronger.

So in the blistering heat of my volcano stronghold, I fight with the land. Every looming rock is an enemy, every flickering shadow an assassin. There is no stopping me once I begin my attack. I am a relentless typhoon, a destructive force unmatched by even the volatile nature of my home.

Of my Shinigami.

Ikkaku is great to brawl with. He's the best training a guy could ask for. He's as merciless as me, as unwavering and - I hate to admit it - but just about as powerful. Not that I would ever tell him any of this. It would only inflate his big bald head. Shaved, my ass.

Whenever he comes, our battlecries echo through this inner world. The earth trembles with each clash of our blades, and fires spontaneously spew from crevasses in the ground. Our blood tames them before an inferno begins. Neither of us go easy on each other.

The first one to collapse is the loser, and he must live with the fact that he is weaker until the next encounter. Because after rigorous training, there is always a next encounter.

Ikkaku should have the same goal as I do. Become stronger. If he did, he'd probably be Captain of his division be now. Hell, he probably could be Captain the way things are. Kenpachi Zaraki hasn't achieved bankai, or even contacted his Zanpakuto. As far was we know, neither has his little sidekick. But unfortunately, Ikkaku's goals aren't the same as mine. He wants to serve as Zaraki's subordinate. So he's strategized it carefully, ensuring that he can take the highest position possible without usurping Zaraki or angering him by showing up annoying little Yachiru. Only his partner, Yumichika, knows the truth about how powerful Ikkaku is. About how powerful we are.

But whatever. If Ikkaku wants to be Zaraki's bitch, let him. Doesn't bother me a bit. Ikkaku's power, _my_ power, will shine through when it really matters, and Ikkaku will see just how deserving he is. Ikkaku will be released of his goal, and I will reach mine.

I will prepare and train until I do.


	21. The Azure Peacock

_**Author's Note:** A quick shout-out to my readers, who are the best! I hope you're enjoying the chapters and thanks so much for all your support. :)_

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><p><strong>Ruri'iro Kujaku<strong>

My name is Ruri'iro Kujaku.

Not Fuji Kujaku.

Ruri'iro.

There is quite a difference between azure and wisteria. Azure is the deep, rich blue of a clear sky or the flawless surface of a pond. Wisteria is purple caught somewhere between lavender and violet. Both are marvelous colors, but only one is mine.

Azure. Ruri'iro.

And yet, Yumichika insists upon summoning my shikai as Fuji Kujaku. It's simply infuriating. You do not understand my plight? How would you like it if someone called _you_ by the wrong name, whether you liked that substitute name or not? The fact is that it is not your name, and you would not respond to it as you do your actual title. He does it to irritate me. He does it because he is ashamed of my power.

Yumichika and his little division are so ridiculous. I am a very powerful Zanpakuto. I should not be stifled in such a manner. But since my shikai is kido and not a physical-style battle technique, Yumichika scorns me. He believes that his comrades will dub him a coward if he uses my full potential in battle. Which, in my honest opinion, does not make them good comrades to begin with. True cowardice, as I've told Yumichika so many times, is not embracing who you are.

He always gives me the same response. He looks away and mutters, "I know."

Yumichika is so ugly when he pities himself.

At least he doesn't call me something hideous, like Oribu or, heaven forbid, Beju. Ugh. I shudder just thinking about it.

But I don't think that Yumichika would do that to me. Or himself, really. I honestly don't think Yumichika could stand having an ugly sword, even if it is only the name. He is just as aesthetically involved as I am.

So I might as well give him props for that. And this little Arabian-style palace he's got me in isn't half bad either. It's quite elegant, tasteful, and glamorous; just how I like it. There are marble floors with murals on the walls, and great domed ceilings. The canopy bed is stuffed with the plushest feathers, and decorated with furs and silks and satins. Giant fans made of peacock feathers are everywhere, instead of tapestries.

I feel quite at home here.

And although all of this is true, I am still waiting for the day that Yumichika will get over his insecurities and beckon me with my real name: Ruri'iro Kujaku.


	22. The Leg Cutting Jizo

_**Author's Note:** I don't really know what a Jizo is..._

* * *

><p><strong>Ashisogi Jizo<strong>

Just another test subject.

That is what I am to Mayuri Kurotsuchi. We are not partners in body and soul like most Zanpakuto and Shinigami. We were in the beginning, when I was free, but Mayuri quickly caged me and studied me and modified me, as well as himself, to the point that we are no longer partners. I am a pinned butterfly and he is the curious little child who stands over me with a magnifying glass, burning my antenna and my eyes to see how loud I will scream. Then he records it and calls it data.

It is not data to me. It is only pain.

Though I cannot deny that I have become much more powerful under Mayuri Kurotsuchi's influence. The pain has made me stronger, made me a better Zanpakuto. But it is in a corrupt, unnatural way; my body is flushed with toxic gases and poisons that I was not created to carry, that I was not made to administer. I am riddled with little gadgets and gizmos for Mayuri Kurotsuchi's convenience. Everything I am is for Mayuri Kurotsuchi's convenience.

I am probably his most prized project, except perhaps his artificial lieutenant, Nemu. Even she, who is his own flesh and blood and DNA, is treated as nothing more than a tool. Mayuri Kurotsuchi is a madman devoid of human companionship, of _true_ human companionship, and he makes us suffer along with him.

Still. In some sick, twisted way, I have an unyielding desire to please my Shinigami, to show him that I am worthy of his unwanted attention. A part of me will always hate him. A part of me will always want him to love me. Genuinely love me.

As a Shinigami and Zanpakuto should.


	23. The Truth Of Pisces

_**Author's Note:** Skipping Nemu Kurotsuchi because, much like the others I've skipped, we have no clue who her Zanpakuto is or what it does. We really don't even know if she has one, considering she's an artificial human being. But I suppose it makes sense for her to have one, considering she's also a lieutenant..._

_Anyway, I'd like to give a shout out to a very helpful reader who sent me a very informative link on Jizo (who, as it turns out, is the Savior from Hell's Torments; ironic, no?). So thank you _**Awen Sofer**_, for looking up this interesting information that I would have been to lazy to do. Now I know what, or rather who, a Jizo is. I wish I could post the link for you guys, but FF is being stupid and keeps deleting it. Grr._

_I'll leave now before my author's note becomes longer than the actual chapter. Enjoy! (P.S. Two more chapters after this one!)_

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><p><strong>Sogyo no Kotowari<strong>

Ju-kun is so much fun. He's so gentle, and so kind. He's more like a parent to us than a Shinigami, a partner of mind and soul. Ju-kun is a tired, but loving, authoritative figure.

And we are the little rascals. Identical in every aspect. Twins. Perfect twins. It's such a fun game, to run around and have Ju-kun gently cajole us into seriously training. Which, of course, is no fun at all. We'd rather play games.

But we're sure that Ju-kun realizes that these games are as much training as regular training will ever be. That's all part of the game: him pretending to get us back on track, our frivolous procrastination. It's playing. It's fun.

The ocean stretches for miles. We have plenty of room to play. Giant, out-of-place lily pads are like trampolines on the rippling waves, fun to bounce on. The sea water is perpetually warm on our bare feet. There are always seagulls flying in the sky. The air is almost always pleasant, except on the rare occasions that Ju-kun is upset. Then the sky gets cloudy and it starts to rain. The ocean churns and boils, slowly, dangerously, and we have to cling to the lily pads for dear life.

It's no fun when Ju-kun is upset.

But the glory of having him for a Shinigami is that he's so even-tempered. It's bad for his immune system to get angry anyway. He's already ill all the time. This is usually why our games end, because he collapses and is too tired to carry on. Ju-kun is always waiting for himself to collapse. He never really asks for time-outs.

That's okay, though. We always have each other to play with. But we don't like being on different teams. That's what makes games no fun when we're just playing with each other.

So when Ju-kun visits, we always play.


	24. The Sleeved White Snow

_**Author's Note:** Rukia's Zanpakuto! This one was pretty interesting to write. I've always liked the look of Sode no Shirayuki, and how she has the pure white contrast to Zangetsu's black. It was always a little romantic to me (sorry guys, I'm a Rukia/Ichigo shipper, but whatever hints I do drop will be subtle...ish)._

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><p><strong>Sode no Shirayuki<strong>

The silence of winter.

It is deafening.

Silence is all around me. The snow blanketing the ground absorbs all sound like a sponge. Not even my footsteps make noise. I am like a phantom in an abandoned world, forever haunting the great frozen lake under the light of a full moon.

The lake is like a mirror, reflecting the moon back at itself. It shows my reflection too, striking against the background of a starry sky. I can sit on the bank of the lake and just watch myself, watch my so-called beauty. I do not see what is so beautiful about me. I do not see beauty at all. I only see cruelty, as cold as the harshest blizzard.

The moon. The moon is what is beautiful here in Rukia's inner world. It is perpetually round and clear, every ridge and crater brought into agonizingly sharp detail. It's always hanging in a black night sky dusted with faint stars. The stars might as well not be there. The moon always outshines them in all its modest glory.

Rukia tells me that I am the moon of the ground. She teasingly refers to me as the Lady of the Lake, after a goddess in some book or another she's read.

Sometimes I feel as though Rukia only sees me as a trophy. She is like a child who has caught an exceptionally bright firefly in a glass jar, rattling it around for all of her friends to admire.

And sometimes I feel as though Rukia is the only one who truly understands me. She always knows when I want to hear her voice or when I just want to sit and be silent like the snow. She is always so gentle with me, even when I lash out at the silence of winter and the pillars of ice shoot out of the ground. This is the only time, besides our quiet conversations, that there is ever any sound here.

I love hearing Rukia talk about her life. She adores her elder brother. The stories about her partners in the Gotei 13 and in her division make me smile. I wish that I could meet her friends in the human world.

Perhaps I am lonely and this is why I like hearing about Rukia's loved ones. I have no loved ones of my own. I can't say if I really love Rukia or not. It is a strange thing to consider, love.

But if I were to see Byakuka Kuchiki with my own eyes, would I adore him? Would Renji Abarai and Jushiro Ukitake make me smile? Would I love Ichigo Kurosaki?

I do not know. I will probably never know.

For now, I will just sit at the bank of the lake and look at my own reflection. Then I will look up at the moon and decide that it is the one definite beautiful thing in my world. It is the one thing that I can never deny my love.


	25. Slaying Moon

_**Author's Note**: Okay. So, I saved the best for last!_

_Yes, I said last. This will be the final chapter, unless we learn more about the Zanpakutos that I had to skip for lack of information about them. I'm sorry, but **I will not be doing the Arrancar's weapons, or the Vizards', or anyone else's**. I hope that you all enjoyed this, and I'd like to give a big thanks to everyone who read, favorited, and reviewed it. If you liked it, keep an eye out for my upcoming murder-mystery-Christmas comedy Bleach story, **Fruit Cake**, which should be out either around Halloween or Christmas; I haven't decided yet._

_Until then, I bid thee farewell! :)_

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><p><strong>Zangetsu<strong>

I have but one fear.

His name is Ichigo Kurosaki.

He is a teenage boy with spiky orange hair, sparking brown eyes, and a semi-permanent scowl on his face. He is of slightly above average intelligence and excels in all things athletic, particularly fighting. He will do anything for his loved ones.

Do not misunderstand. I am not afraid _of_ Ichigo Kurosaki. I am afraid _for_ him.

Ichigo is hotheaded, compassionate, and just. He is wise beyond his years. And yet he is also somehow young, somehow innocent. He wishes to protect not the whole world, not just himself, but a mountain of people.

A mountain.

In reality, Ichigo will protect who ever is in need of it. He did that well before he became a substitute Shinigami and acquired me. He protects his sisters, his friends, the wandering souls he sees. He protects complete strangers.

But there is one person that Ichigo does not protect.

Himself.

Thus the foundation for my fear. Ichigo is my Shinigami, and I his Zanpakuto. We are two who are one. Partners of mind and soul. But we are more than that, now. Ichigo is my responsibility. He is my friend. And I do want to protect him.

I give him advice, guidance when I can, I force him to stand back up when he falls. I deny him my ultimate power, the power that I know will destroy him. He will ask for it eventually, although he does not know it exists, and he will fight for it. I will not relinquish it lightly. It is a desperate power. One that he will use. One that will leave him defenseless for the rest of his life.

And he will not regret it. He will mourn the loss of his ability to protect so many, he will hate feeling powerless, but he will not regret it. Because Ichigo would gladly leave himself defenseless in the face of danger than let a single innocent person perish. Especially when that person is one he loves. He always loves with his whole heart, even though he will not show it.

I've discovered that my sighs sound like Ichigo.

His inner world is a glass city. I've tried to tilt it, to turn it, to make it more comfortable, more natural, but of course it never works. The glass is slippery when it rains. I hate that.

Sigh. Ichigo.

On the other side of the glass is a monster. He is a pale, ragged spirit. His laugh sounds like the rattling of bones. He wields a blade, a Zanpakuto. He wields me.

The monster looks like Ichigo.

He is Ichigo.

Ichigo's Hollow half, the evil desires that bubble behind his intense brown gaze. Ichigo has him under control, maintained just enough to harness his power. The Hollow speaks to me, in whispers, in screams, trying to influence and warp my thoughts. He is trying to drive me to insanity.

But he shall not.

Not while I have Ichigo to protect.


End file.
